


Fealty

by Moira_Starsong



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Great Heathen Army, Ivar Needs A Hug, Ivar is the best, One Shot, One-Shot, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Prompt Fill, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Season/Series 04, Sheildmaiden!OC, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moira_Starsong/pseuds/Moira_Starsong
Summary: A sheildmaiden returns to Kattegat after a long absence, just before the Great Heathen Army invades England. She seeks out a childhood friend, hoping to clear the air between them before they go to war. Valentine's Day Prompt fill. One Shot.





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> A Valentine's Day prompt fill for “I pledge my fealty to you.” (Thank you Corru for the prompt game and Sqort for the prompt!) There are no females in Vikings that 1) I liked 2) were not related to Ivar in some way or 3) were not too old for Ivar, so I had to do an OC because I really wanted to write Ivar. So Ivar/OC it was.  
> I hope no one is squicked by the fact that Ivar is 16 at this point and the OC is 18 or 19. In Viking culture, Ivar is a man at 16, an adult, and he's such a forceful personality that I felt that Hilde had to have some advantage over him, however small! Takes place in Season 4, when the Great Heathen Army is preparing to invade England.  
> This is far fluffier than what I normally write. But Godsdamnit, Ivar needs some love and happiness!!

Kattegat was much more crowded than Hilde remembered. It seemed to be bursting at the seams, but that was only to be expected. Ships and people from around the entire Norse world had congregated here, from far-flung parts of Norway, Scandinavia, Denmark, Sweden. All answering the summons to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok. Hilde still felt a twinge in her heart when she thought about it; Ragnar had always seemed larger than life, invincible. He had gone from farmer to earl to king in quick succession. Clearly, he had been favored by the Gods, and some said that the blood of Odin ran in his veins. The idea that he was dead, lying in a cold, unmarked English grave, was shocking. Worse, it had been reported that the greatest hero of the Viking world had been tortured before his death, because the Christian king of Northumbria, this Aelle, wanted him to repent of his so-called sins and reject the Gods of his forefathers. The great Ragnar Lothbrok had of course refused, and he had been died in Aelle's snake pit, alone and among enemies, denied the chance to enter Valhalla with an axe in his hand … Hilde's hands clenched into fists unconsciously. It was sickening. It was unjust. It **_would_** be avenged.

Unlike most of the Vikings who had come to Kattegat, Hilde had known Ragnar personally. Or more accurately, she had known his sons, particularly the youngest. Hilde had been a sickly child, frequently ill, and often confined indoors. As such Queen Aslaug had thought that she could be a companion to her youngest son, the cripple, and so Hilde had spent much of her childhood in King Ragnar's longhouse. She had became a friend of sorts to Ivar. As much as the prickly boy had any friends. He did not allow many people close, and few tried to get past his fearsome temper or sharp tongue. He resented her at first, seeing his mother “assigning” her to him as pity. And if there was one thing that Ivar Ragnarson couldn't stand, it was pity. It wasn't easy being a cripple in a land that valued strength above all else.

At first, Ivar had treated her no better than a slave, but Hilde had soon set him straight on that. A smile tugged at Hilde’s lips as she remembered when she had upended a jug of water over the infuriating boy’s head. She didn't even remember what he had said to provoke her now, only the red-hot rage and the look of stunned silence that had followed her action. Few had the courage to stand up to him, maybe no one besides his brothers. Much less a common-born _girl_. She had managed to gain first his respect, and eventually his trust. They had played many a game of hnefatafl, talked about everything, the Gods, their families, their hopes and dreams, late into the night. A few times Hilde had even gone with him to his lessons with the old mystic Floki.

But of course, Hilde had outgrown her infirmity, and begun to train with axe and sword. Ivar would never outgrow his twisted legs. That was when things changed, when he began to push her away. Hilde had been confused by his bitter behavior. Shouldn't he have been happy for her, as her friend? But they had never had a chance to resolve it. It was soon after that when Hilde's parents had decided to move, to return to her mother's folk in Sweden. Hilde was a shieldmaiden now, and that was why she was here. Like so many warriors and shieldmaidens, she had come to Kattegat now, back to the land of her birth, to avenge the king that her father Thorolf had once sworn fealty to.

But Hilde had another reason to be here. She wanted to see Ivar again, to make her peace with him. Ivar had been barely ten summers old the last time she had seen him, a mere child. Although Hilde was several years his senior, she had always harbored a deep affection for him. She had been too shy to act on her girlish crush at the time, and she still did not know if Ivar had felt the same that she had. But they were both adults now, and about to head to war. Much would change in the coming weeks. Perhaps one of them would die. Perhaps both of them. Hilde did not want to enter Odin’s Hall with regrets.

The Great Hall was crowded, jam-packed with feasting Vikings. Music was playing at a loud volume, although it was becoming slightly off-key. Even the musicians were getting a little drunk at this point. Kattegat's new Queen sat on the throne, an owl perched on her shoulder, glacial blue eyes surveying the revelry with a self-satisfied twist to her elegant lips. The blonde was a legend, and like a legend, frigid, distant and most of all, dangerous. Hilde wondered what had happened to Aslaug, but she knew better than to tangle with Lagertha.  


She weaved through the crowds, agilely avoiding the groping hands from some of the men too drunk to tell the difference between a freewoman and a thrall. A well-placed knee to a groin took care of one them, to the raucous laughter of his companions. Hilde paid it no mind. She was only looking for one person.  


When she found him, he wasn’t actually in the longhouse, but a long distance away, where he could have some solitude. Hilde should have realized that he would be separated from the joy and the revelry of all the others. If he held himself aloof, pretended to hold those below him in complete disdain, then it would hurt less when he wasn’t involved or included. Perhaps Hilde had been away too long, for her not to realize that right away.

She watched him from the shadows for a few moments. There was no mistaking Ivar. His twisted, stunted legs were bound together with leather straps between the knee and ankle. His customary glower was on his features as he stared into the woods beyond the line of houses, and he was playing with a dagger absentmindedly, twirling it between his fingers. His shoulders were disproportionately broad, used as they were to pull the rest of his body along on the ground. And he was scowling. His fearsome affect was sure to repel any who might have dared to come close even after they realized who he was. His hair had darkened from the dark blonde Hilde remembered when they were children, and now was a deep brown … or perhaps black, she couldn’t tell for sure in the dark. His unnaturally brilliant blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark, illuminating in their brightness. He had certainly grown up handsome.

After a few moments, Hilde revealed herself. “How are you enjoying the night?”

“Just because I'm a cripple doesn't mean I need your pity.” he snarled without even looking at her. “You don't need to pretend you care.” The sneer twisted his handsome features and his tone dripped menace. Ivar might have been older now, but his tongue was just as acidic as Hilde remembered. It made her smile.

“When have I ever treated you with pity, Ivar?” she responded calmly.

He gave her a long look, before recognition sparked in his vibrant blue eyes. “Hilde?” he sounded shocked, but he really should not have been, considering.

“Hello, Ivar,” she smiled warmly.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? I came to help avenge your father.”

“Oh.” Was that disappointment? 

“Good.” he grunted. “We'll need every able-bodied warrior we can get.”

 _Why does able-bodied sound like an insult from his lips?_ Hilde wondered. He was doing it again, pushing her away, falling into the role of the arrogant prince. But Ivar forgot that Hilde knew him better than anyone, besides his own family. Or perhaps Floki. And she knew how to get past his mask, even if it would rouse his fearsome temper. But at least it would also get her some answers.

“Ivar,” her voice was soft and gentle, “Where's your mother?” Ivar's face seemed to crumple, and she swore she saw tears glistening in his eyes. _Oh no._ “When I got here, I found Lagertha ruling, and no one will tell me what happened. They just get uncomfortable and look away.”

At the mention of Lagertha, Ragnar's estranged first wife, Ivar’s eyes seemed to flame up in the darkness, the blue becoming more intense, like holy fire from the hand of Odin. It took Hilde's breath away. “Lagertha _murdered_ my mother in cold blood. She had surrendered Kattegat, and Lagertha shot her in the back like a _**coward**_. She has no honor!” The sadness was gone now, and left in its place was anger. No, _rage_. Murderous, deadly rage emanated from him, surrounding him like a cloak that he was drawing closer to warm himself against the deadly Norwegian chill.

“Oh, Ivar ....” was all that she could think to say. And then Hilde did what no one else would ever dare to do, especially when Ivar was in such a dangerous mood. She reached out and _hugged_ him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He stiffened in her arms, unused to such a blatant display of affection. When she didn't immediately pull away, Ivar wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, and _sobbed_. It was most likely the first time he had cried since his mother had been murdered. Hilde held her childhood friend as he clutched at her and howled, as he raged against the Gods, as he swore vengeance on Lagertha, even if he had to kill Björn to do it, even if he had to do it alone without the support of his brothers. Through it all Hilde was as steady as a rock, weathering the wild, primal storm of Ivar's fury, holding him as he raged and stroking his hair gently until he had exhausted himself and sagged against her.

For a few moments after he had calmed, they stayed in the same position, his hands wrapped around her waist, Hilde's fingers running through his surprisingly soft hair. He smelled like leather and honey. He must have already had some of the mead tonight, which might explain why he had so easily given in and let Hilde see past his tough exterior. Now, though …

Ivar pulled away from her, looking more awkward than Hilde had ever seen him. His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, and he looked everywhere but at her.

“Björn is leading the Great Army,” he said at last, obviously groping for a topic of conversation to distract from his emotional breakdown in her arms. Hilde allowed him the dignity of not commenting on the lack of grace with which he had changed the subject.

“Then he'll need your help,” she gave him a smile as she turned to face the woods with him, but still watched him from the corner of her eye. “No one has a mind for tactics like you.”

“That must be why I regularly beat you at hnefatafl.” He smirked at her, and Hilde felt warmth growing in her chest.

“I won sometimes.” Hilde had to protest, to defend her honor. But there was no bite behind the words.

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Only when I let you win.”

“You arrogant prick!” She punched his shoulder, grinning. “You've never let anyone win at anything a day in your life!”

Ivar laughed, and his smile was so dazzling it almost made Hilde dizzy. “True.”

For a while they lapsed into silence again, looking out into the woods, before Ivar broke the silence. “Have you spoken with Ubbe or Björn?”

“No, I haven’t seen either of them. I assume they're busy with the preparations for sailing to England.”

“You should find them.” He said cryptically, not looking at her.

Hilde frowned. What was he getting at?

“Ubbe especially would be happy to see you.” Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?

“I'm sure he would be.” Hilde responded carefully. She was used to Ivar's distrustful nature, and his tests. “But you're the one I wanted to see most.”

“Well, you'll still need to swear yourself to Björn.”

That was technically true, but something about that just didn't feel right. Hilde couldn't do it. She reached out to grip Ivar's chin, tilting his face back towards hers. He looked shocked by gesture, but didn't shake her hand off. Instead he looked up at her questioningly, his eyes guarded, but Hilde thought she detected a spark of hope in their brilliant depths.  “I pledge my fealty to _you_ , Ivar Ragnarson, called the Boneless,” she said quietly, making Ivar’s eyes widen slightly. “Not to Björn, not Ubbe, to you. I will follow your orders in the Great Army, and no one else's.”

“Why?” he asked, clearly stunned beyond belief.

“Do you really not know?” Hilde was still holding his chin, and she stroked one of her fingers gently along the side of his face as she did so.

He shook his head. His brilliant eyes were wide and vulnerable. He wasn't the arrogant Viking prince right now, the feared and fearsome Ivar the Boneless. No, he was just a shy sixteen year old boy who had just lost both his parents, and who had probably never been kissed.

Hilde's eyes dropped to Ivar's full lips. She'd take care of that. She leant down then, and Ivar _definitely_ sucked in a breath as she got close. Hilde smiled at his uncharacteristic shyness as her lips brushed his. For moment he was frozen, uncertain what to do, but then his mouth opened, and Hilde slipped her tongue inside. The kiss was soft and sweet, everything that Ivar the Boneless was _not_ , to anyone else. But nobody else knew him like she did. Nobody else knew the vulnerable little boy that lurked under the confidence and the nessacary cruelty.

Eventually the kiss ended. When Hilde drew back, she found Ivar's eyes were still closed. When he opened them again, his voice was small.  “But… you outgrew me….”

It hit Hilde then, as if she’d been struck by Thor’s hammer. Ivar thought that she would only want him when she had been sick. Like him. She had been on his level, then. Attainable. When her health had gotten better, he thought she would inevitably abandon him. And then she had, when her family moved. Her heart swelled with regret, affection, guilt … most of all, she _hurt_ on Ivar’s behalf.

“Oh Ivar.” Hilde reached up and smoothed a dark lock of hair away from his brow. Ivar leaned into her touch, just slightly, and probably unconsciously. How many times had he been touched since Aslaug had died? Not many, Hilde assumed, and probably all from Ubbe. His eldest brother was the only one who seemed to care for Ivar as much as she did, besides Floki and his now-deceased mother. “Did you think you weren’t worthy of someone who wasn’t ill? You have many gifts. You're more intelligent than anyone here, for one, and _you’re_ the one I want. The one I've _always_ wanted.”

Something defiant and cruel sparked in Ivar’s eyes then. Hilde doubted he liked being understood so easily. “Ubbe is marrying his little slave girl, and Björn has Torvi, but Hvitserk is still unattached if you’ve intent on bagging a Son of Ragnar. Surely a shieldmaiden as beautiful as you can do better than the cripple.”

Before she could think about it, Hilde had slapped him. The sound of her hand smacking his face rang through the darkness. Ivar sat in stunned silence, the red mark on his cheek testifying to how hard she had struck him. For a moment she saw only the boy he had been when she had turned the jug of water over his head. As soon as she realized what she had done, Hilde regretted it.

“Ivar, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -” but she never had a chance to finish her apology. Ivar let out a feral growl, gripping her wrist with an impossible strength, and yanked her down into his arms. His mouth was suddenly devouring hers, swallowing any more words that she may have had. The kiss was rough and clumsy, but Ivar made up for his inexperience with pure passion and enthusiasm, his tongue eagerly tangling with hers this time. Hilde gripped his tunic in one fist and twined her other into the dark, silky strands of his hair, clutching tightly. Her knees actually buckled beneath her from the intensity of his assault on her mouth, and Ivar’s other arm swept around her waist. He supported her easily in his strong arms. A lifetime of dragging himself along the ground had given him quite the impressive physique on his upper body, and Hilde could feel every hard line of his muscles rippling beneath his tunic as he held her. She trembled in his arms, and fervently hoped that he wouldn't misinterpret that as fear. Ivar was feared enough already. Hilde clung to him, trying desperately to get closer, to communicate what he meant to her with her mouth and body, since Ivar seemed so distrusting of her words.

When they were finally forced to break apart for air, Hilde was gasping. Ivar had both arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her. And he was staring, with that particularly intense expression he got when he was figuring out a puzzle, or when she had trapped him with a very clever move during one of their games.

“You really want me?” his voice was soft and filled with awe. Hilde had known that Ivar’s insecurity ran deep, but she had never realized just _how_ deep. She placed one hand on his cheek, smiling as she ran her thumb over his full bottom lip. He nipped at it, making her chuckle. “Yes, Ivar, only you.”

But Hilde couldn't resist teasing him, as inadvisable as teasing the volatile Ivar the Boneless was. “I did notice that when you were trying to pawn me off on your brothers you didn’t mention that Sigurd is still alone.”

Ivar growled at that, an unbearably sexy sound, his blue eyes flashing, and she felt his arms tighten around her. 

“Because if Sigurd touched you, I’d kill him.”

“Good.” She laughed, and kissed him again.  “I just want to be yours.”

“I accept your fealty, Hilde, daughter of Thorolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> Realized I should probaly explain that hnefatafl is a chess-like game played by the Vikings to learn battle tactics. It's not exactly a one-to-one comparison with chess, since the attacker and the defender in the game have different abilities, numbers, and goals, but its similar. Its rare for games to have two unequal sides, but in that way, the game mirrored real life battle situations more realistically. ANYWAY. I'm a nerd.


End file.
